The Ice Boat (On the Road from Brazil to Siberia) Volume 2 of Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll – Pulling Down the Pants of Nick Kent and Jack Kerouac

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The Abba-like cleanness of Stockholm was getting to him. He wanted to piss against a wall.

With plenty of drugs, sex and rock and roll; The Ice Boat is a modern rock and roll odyssey.

Dave has almost got it all; with a rock star lifestyle, romance and a nice flat in London, he almost has the happiness he has worked for all his life. But his reluctance to compromise in love takes him away from London to disaster in Rio de Janeiro. Losing his identity, and his heart, to a scheming Brazilian siren, he manages to evade the corrupt music biz sharks and ends up living with three prostitutes in Amsterdam.

This book navigates the seedy underbelly of the music world like a nuclear submarine; magic mushrooms, cocaine, romantic pornography, pop culture freaks, public sex and laughing in the face of death all put in a glimmering appearance in this edgy, international road thriller.

Full of suspense and unresolved emotions, The Ice Boat is a real 20th Century odyssey that will have you laughing and crying. Somewhere between Ken Kesey or Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and Nick Kent’s Apathy for the Devil, it’s two fingers up to those who mock the performing arts.

Sample

Dave walked steadily forward towards a group of stevedores stacking crates near the edge of the quay. He called out, “Que sa la San Antonio?” the name on the ticket, and they pointed to the right, second pier along, with hand gestures.
“Obligado,” he said, and started walking.
It took about half an hour to locate his ship.
She looked terrible. The name was the only bit of paint still properly sticking, the rest a mixture of rust, white undercoat and semi-matt or gloss black paint on the hull, rust and white above.
Dave reached the area of the quay, fenced-off by the Bremen Ship Company.
Three sides of a quadrangle were formed by a high, rusty white steel fence, with a gate and white steel office next to it inside the fencing. A white notice board on two metal poles advertised the name of the company. Layers of torn paper around the edges indicated many changes of name. He walked up to the gate and pushed it. There was was no one in the office so he walked towards the gangplank. Although the area was at least fifty metres wide, he walked as if on a tightrope, each step precise, so as not to stumble and draw attention to himself. He climbed the sloping plank and reached the deck.
The acting Purser and another man were sitting at a desk, smiling. The Purser smiled at him.
“You’re early. Ticket please.” He held out his hand.
Dave had it already in his hand and gave it to him.
The Purser punched it and passed it back after glancing at it.
“Cabin Eight, down here, two doors on right,” he said, thumbing along the ship, over his shoulder.
“That’s it,” Dave was saying to himself. He picked the bags up and walked down the deck in the direction indicated.